


Blackberry Fools

by caras_galadhon (Galadriel)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Community: wordsontongue, Domestic, Established Relationship, Gardens & Gardening, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-02
Updated: 2008-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/caras_galadhon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were few things as frustrating as a blackberry bush that refused to be pruned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackberry Fools

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mooms](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mooms).



> Written for the [](http://wordsontongue.livejournal.com/profile)[**wordsontongue**](http://wordsontongue.livejournal.com/) drabble/flash fiction exchange (and don't tell anyone, but I'm technically 89 words over the limit; that's never happened to me before). Mooms provided a number of interesting genres to choose from, and I hope I've managed to do one or two justice here. (Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/wordsontongue/2838.html).)

[ ](http://community.livejournal.com/wordsontongue/)

They'd made no progress all day. The yard was a shambles, the blackberry briars still hopelessly tangled and choking out the south corner of the garden, each cluster of deep, shining purple a silent taunt barely masking the menace of spiky thorns lurking underneath.

They'd hacked and yanked and chopped for the better part of the morning, and had little to show for it past skin streaked with dirt, long and varied scratches courtesy of vindictive thorns, and an increasingly itchy collection of mosquito bites. The bramble bit back, and few canes came away without a monumental struggle.

Sometime in early afternoon, once they realized that exhaustion was bringing on carelessness, that Viggo's hedge trimmers were getting a little too close to Sean's face and Sean's spade was inching too near Viggo's toes, they gave up and went on to other chores. Viggo attacked the lawn, while Sean vented his own frustration by weeding one of the larger flowerbeds, the constant rumble of the mower a fitting backdrop to the business of uprooting dandelions and thistles. It was good, honest work, the sort that ground dust into your pores, made you sweat and groan and strain, but it cleared the head, narrowing one's focus down to the simple building blocks of earth, water and air.

And sometimes that was all one needed.

When he felt the first few prickles across his shoulderblades, the tingle travelling upward to the nape of his neck, Sean knew for certain that his sunblock was finally giving out and it was time to call it quits. He sighed, temporarily defeated by the still-standing grove of weeds doing their damnedest to unseat their fragile flower neighbours, and flopped down in the shade. He drew his knees up just enough to comfortably rest his elbows, yanked his gloves off and dropped them on the ground before letting his arms dangle between his legs, fingertips sweeping the green below. His gaze automatically tracked Viggo's progress, still pushing the mower, a steady stream of clippings spit out in his wake, the hum of the blades rising and falling with the gentle sloping terrain. At some point, perhaps in solidarity with Sean, Viggo'd discarded his shirt, tucked it into the rear pocket of his jeans, turning it into a sort of flag that flip-flopped as he moved, brushing the backs of his thighs with each step.

Sean chuckled and shook his head, mirth bubbling up from within, overflowing to drown out the undercurrents of exhaustion and irritation at a task half-done. He breathed in deeply, warm, newly-turned earth and the gentle waft of lilac and rose mingling together on the breeze, tinging each inhale. The sun, slowly dipping into the west, sent slanted shafts of light to play over Viggo's back, highlighting each curve, shading each muscle in shadow. The faintest sheen of sweat clung to Viggo's shoulders, the curve of his back, the turn of his hip. Sean wet his lips, the remembered taste of Viggo already on his tongue, his fingers flexing as he imagined tracing familiar paths from crown to foot.

Idly, Sean glanced down at the tangled pile of weeds at his side, plucking at a fluffy yellow dandelion-head, pulling the stem free. It was the work of a moment to strip the roots and leaves, and a scant half-second to slit the middle of the stem with his thumbnail. Another stripped dandelion threaded easily through the hole, and before long, he found himself falling into old familiar motions borne of lazy summer days entertaining daughters.

Eventually the mower came to a sputtering stop, Viggo surveying the mess of clippings scattered across the yard before turning a rueful smile to Sean. "Would it be wrong to leave one more thing undone?"

Sean shook his head, patting the grass beside himself. "No." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the garden. "I thought maybe this year we could let the weeds grow."

Viggo snorted as he collapsed next to Sean, bringing with him the faintest hint of crushed grass, the lush scent of life a halo around him. "Or maybe we could finally break down and hire some landscapers. You could become a hobby gardener and putter about at your leisure."

Sean smiled, slipping the last dandelion into place. "And what would you do, hmm? While I was out puttering?" He held up the chain, inspecting his handiwork, a bright yellow circle that would have done any little girl proud.

"I'd provide inspiration, of course. Consult on colours. Statuary. Both the clothed and naked kinds." He winked as he reached out and ran a finger over the circlet. "What's this?"

"Mmm? Oh." Sean raised the chain and set it carefully atop Viggo's head. "It's for you."

Viggo patted the weedy crown, his soft laughter and wide grin more than payment enough for Sean's small token. Sean answered the smile with one of his own, stretching his legs out in front of himself and tapping his lap. "Here. Lie down."

With a little bit of manoeuvring, Viggo settled his head in Sean's lap, dandelions still intact. He grinned up at Sean. "How do I look?"

"Like a king." Sean traced the outer edge of the makeshift crown, each petal a tiny tickling touch against his skin.

"King of the weeds?"

Sean shook his head as the laughter bubbled up inside him again. He reached for a discarded cane, still heavy with blackberries, plucked a berry free and pressed it against Viggo's mouth. It crushed ever so slightly under his fingers, momentarily staining Viggo's lips purple before he opened wide, catching the fruit between his teeth. "And of cabbages, and the garden too. You're _my_ king, and this," Sean touched his own chest, just above his heart, "is your domain."

The corners of Viggo eyes crinkled. "Does that make me Oberon," a mischievous glimmer appeared in each eye, "and you Titania?"

Sean craned his neck forward, bringing them nose to nose. "Maybe." He brushed his lips over Viggo's, the kiss flavoured with fondness as much as by blackberries. "Maybe it does."

And maybe they were simply sitting in a muck of weeds and grass, crowning themselves fairy-fools; maybe today was a wash, a waste of time; and maybe they'd made no real progress on the yard, nothing to show for their troubles but a bigger mess than what they'd started with. But today had given them time together, and that was precious in any amount, in any way.

And sometimes a little time was all one needed.


End file.
